


#latteart

by imagines



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Barista AU, College AU, Instagram, M/M, OtaYuri Week, OtaYuri Week 2017, Otabek’s a tired student, Yuri’s a snarky barista, flirting via latte art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9864662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: Tiger House looks like it can’t decide if it’s an English pub, a used book store, or a bakery. The only sign that it actually sells coffee is the smell of freshly-roasted beans that hits Otabek when he pushes open the door, a little bell jangling above him.There’s nobody here but a bored-looking barista leaning on the counter by the register. “Can I help you?” the barista says, in a tone that heavily implies he would rather do no such thing.(Day 2 prompt: social media)





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written in my life bYE

It’s on a whim that Otabek tries the other coffeeshop. His usual haunt is a chain store just off campus, which is big, bright, busy, and noisy—but it’s close to the dorms, and that means he has no excuse not to go do his homework, even if his annoying roommate always has a girl or boy over and sometimes two at once.

Today, though, he’s nearly to the door of the chain shop when he stops in his tracks. Today, he is so tired of _people_ that the thought of walking into the press of too many stressed-out, over-caffeinated students makes his skin crawl. He pulls out his phone to search for “coffee nearby,” and an unfamiliar name pops up: Tiger House. It doesn’t seem to have been open for very long, and there are only two reviews—one so fawning that it’s _got_ to be written by the owner’s mom or something, and the other one seemingly from a real customer, whose coffee was “tasty but nothing special.”

Well, he’s looking for quiet, not special; and the place is less than two kilometers away. He turns away from the horribly-crowded coffeeshop and strikes out on an adventure.

Tiger House looks like it can’t decide if it’s an English pub, a used book store, or a bakery. The only sign that it actually sells coffee is the smell of freshly-roasted beans that hits Otabek when he pushes open the door, a little bell jangling above him.

There’s nobody here but a bored-looking barista leaning on the counter by the register. “Can I help you?” the barista says, in a tone that heavily implies he would rather do no such thing.

“Could I have a small latte?” Otabek tries, approaching the counter.

“Sure, whatever.” The guy sighs his way over to an espresso machine, and a few moments later, he returns with a white ceramic mug for Otabek. There’s a large, perfectly symmetrical fern drawn across the top of it.

“Cool fern,” Otabek says.

“Actually, it’s called a rosetta,” the guy says, tossing his blonde hair out of his eyes, as if Otabek is a small child who has just called grass pink instead of green.

Oh, he’s one of _those_ baristas. “Okay. Cool rosetta.”

“Anybody can pour one of those,” the guy scoffs. “You should see what _I_ can do.”

“Well, maybe you can show me sometime.” Otabek takes his drink and removes himself to a small table wedged into a corner by the front window. He snaps a picture of the latte, slaps on a filter, and puts it on Instagram. This is definitely cooler than the paper to-go cup and zero art that he’d have gotten from the other café, even if the staff here is—uh—much more blunt.

There’s no music playing here, just the sounds of espresso grinding and milk steaming for the occasional customer, and it’s soothing and perfect for writing his paper.

* * *

Otabek’s next latte comes with a swan on it, and he can’t help his eyes widening. That really _is_ cool.

The barista doesn’t miss his expression. “See? Told you I’m good.”

“Are you an art student or something?”

“Not even close. Sports medicine,” the barista says. “St. Petersburg.”

“Yeah? I’m doing linguistics there.”

The barista blinks at him. “Okay.”

All right, so he’s not into conversation. Otabek goes to his usual table and takes the usual Instagram picture. (Caption: _You wouldn’t believe how gorgeous his eyes are_.) And settles in for more writing.

* * *

The next latte is ready before Otabek has even reached the counter. A starburst this time. The barista must have seen him coming up the street. “What’s your name, by the way?” he asks, handing over money.

The barista points at his apron, where “YURI” is embroidered in white thread. “It’s been there the whole time.”

“I _know_ ,” Otabek tells him. If this guy is going to act like this every time, maybe Otabek can stand to be a little less polite. “But if you ask me, it’s rude to start using someone’s name without asking.”

The barista squints at him. “Nobody ever asks, but I appreciate it. My name is Yuri.”

“I’m Otabek,” Otabek says. “See how easy that was?”

For that, he actually gets a laugh from Yuri, whose blue-green eyes light up like the ocean on a sunny day. “You know, you’re probably my favorite regular.”

Otabek looks around at the empty-as-always café. “You have other regulars?”

“Don’t be an ass to the guy who makes your coffee. I can and will decaf you.”

Otabek’s Instagram is soon going to be 90% lattes if he isn’t careful. One of his friends writes a comment that he should probably ask this barista out already. _Right, because I want to be THAT creepy customer_ , Otabek answers.

* * *

It’s raining the next time Otabek visits Tiger House, and he walks in drenched.

Yuri stares him up and down. “Forgot your umbrella?”

“Yes,” Otabek says. “How could you tell?”

Yuri throws a (thankfully clean and dry) bar towel at his face. “At least stop dripping water all over my clean floor.”

“ _Your_ floor?”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “The owner’s always off traipsing around Russia with his husband, so it might as well be my floor. I open, I close, I do everything in between.” His eyes soften. “And then I go to class at night. But I live with my grandfather and he can’t work anymore, so…it’s worth it.”

This latte has a remarkably detailed cat face on it. “How…?” Otabek’s in awe.

Yuri shrugs. “I’m alone a lot. Trying to copy stuff I see online is how I entertain myself.”

Off to the corner table. Click, tag, upload. And the café visits go on like that for some time.

* * *

Spring arrives suddenly and thoroughly. Today, Yuri looks up and smiles when Otabek walks into the café. “I was about to take a break, if you want to chat a bit.”

The latte has three little white flowers scattered across the top. Carrying it delicately, Otabek follows Yuri out to the patio, where Yuri leans against the brick wall and sips at an iced coffee that looks like it’s more than half cream.

“So,” Yuri says, not looking at him. “You didn’t tell me you were into photography.”

Otabek’s legs are no longer certain about their ability to hold him upright. “What do you mean?” he asks, hoping against hope that Yuri means _anything_ but—

“Hashtag latteart,” Yuri says. “Where do you think I get my ideas? But then I saw some very familiar work, so I clicked through.”

Otabek racks his memory, trying to think when the last bit of evidence of his crush might have occurred. How far back in the feed had Yuri gone? “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just really liked it.”

“I’m not mad at you.” There’s a little smile at the corner of Yuri’s lips. “No one’s ever appreciated it… _that_ much.”

Oh no. Yuri _definitely_ saw those comments, then. Otabek swallows hard. “Look, whatever you saw, I—”

“I couldn’t do that cute barista-flirting thing where I write my number on your cup,” Yuri interrupts, “because you only ever order for here. So what I really want to know is, are you just going to keep telling your friends how much you like my eyes, or are you going to ask me out?”

There’s a hint of nervousness beneath Yuri’s bold words, and Otabek wants nothing more than to reassure him. “Both,” he says. “Because your eyes are beautiful. And I’d like to get to know you—away from here.”

“I’m almost never free,” Yuri says. “I don’t know _when_ you’re planning on seeing me.”

“Whenever I can,” Otabek tells him.

It’s a good thing he’s the only customer around at that moment, because it’s probably _really_ unprofessional the way Yuri shoves him against the wall and kisses him till he’s breathless and burning.


End file.
